Savior
by September's Spell
Summary: What was that saying? Life sucks and then you die? Whoever said that was spot-fucking-on.


**A/N**: Okay, this would be my first attempt at anything Hemlock Grove outside of roleplaying, so I'm a little shaky but optimistic! Obviously, this is a work in progress and I'm planning on continuing. I'm more than open to constructive criticism, as always, so don't hesitate to shoot me a message letting me know what I need to fix. c: Otherwise, enjoy.~

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Life was bullshit. What was that saying? Life sucks and then you die? Whoever said that was spot-fucking-on.

Roman shifted his weight from one foot to the other, one hand hovering over the cold metal railing as though to catch himself if he needed to. But he didn't need to. That was the whole fucking point of this, wasn't it? He stood on the opposite side of the safety rails, where the ledge came to an abrupt end and he had to turn his feet at an odd angle to balance properly.

The designer of this thing hadn't taken jumper's comforts into consideration.

It was a bridge with a several dozen foot drop to the rocky uneven water below. He'd had to drive through it to get back home, just like he did every night. It was cold and metal and completely urban compared to its surroundings. It stuck out like a sore thumb, industrial in a sea of trees. It was ugly, with chipping paint and rust spots. Roman was sure he could have found a comparison to himself in there somewhere, if he tried hard enough. But he didn't try.

Normally he thought nothing of it. Normally, it was a quick drive and that was the only contact he had with the thing. A few seconds a night. But tonight was different. Tonight, he found himself hitting the breaks halfway across. And for awhile he just sat there, listening to the thick cables creak in the cold. An idea took him and refused to let go, and eventually he abandoned his car in the center of the bridge and approached the railing. He leaned against it, feeling the cold seep through his clothes, chill his skin.

Maybe he hadn't meant to climb over.

Yes he had.

The reality of the situation was that he had been thinking about this for a very long time. Every time he passed over the bridge. It was a small suggestion, unnoticeably burrowing into the corner of his thoughts until it screamed at him now. Do it. Just let go. Just take a step, and everything will be over. Every-fucking-thing. The pain will stop, the ache will die. The pounding in his head that shouted _you're not good enough_ with every heartbeat. All of it would be over.

Griping the cold thin railing with both hands he leaned forward as far as his arms would allow him, staring down at the no doubt freezing water below. Would it be instantaneous, or would he suffer for awhile? But then, what was a little more suffering? At least it would be over. At least he would never have to go back to that _fucking_ place every again.

He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of water trickling over rock. Even from a distance he could hear it. The humming of nighttime bugs. A few frogs worked up a melody, one sound repeated over and over again until it was a continuous drone. All he had to do was let go. His grip loosened just a bit, just enough to send him forward a fraction of an inch.

"Hey man, you got a light?"

The sudden and unexpected sound took Roman so completely by surprise his grip nearly slipped, very nearly ending everything right then and there. He opened his eyes again; there was only a brief moment of panic before he realized that he really wouldn't have minded if he hadn't been able to retain his grasp.

"What?"

The owner of the voice - a scruffy looking young man with a pleasant face - held up a trodden pack of cigarettes and offered a somewhat sheepish smile. There was a long pause in which Roman offered only a flat stare in return, trying to ascertain whether or not his unwanted company was being serious or not. "You're shitting me." He accused finally, unmoving save for his eyes which scanned the others features for any sort of reaction.

"I shit you not." His company returned solemnly, looking down at the pack of cigarettes in his palm as though it were a fallen comrade - it was one of those shitty cheap brands that made Roman curl his lip in distaste. He briefly considered tossing over the railing the Italian imports he had tucked in the pocket of his jacket; it wasn't as though he was going to need them after this, anyways. After a moment longer he leaned back against the railing to steady himself, fishing through his jacket pocket with one hand - he heard his company shift a bit and for a moment he wondered what must have been going through his head.

With a lazy flick of his wrist, he tossed the lighter over and the stranger caught it easily despite the odd angle. "Thanks." Roman nodded once in reply, but remained silent. Company wasn't wanted or needed then, and he suddenly wished this guy would fuck off so he could get this over with. The metal was cold against his hands and it was beginning to burn.

"The name's Peter." The stranger introduced himself, but Roman had no interest in names.

"Whatever."


End file.
